


One Step Ahead

by FullSunHyuckie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Assassins & Hitmen, Detectives, Exes, Gun Violence, M/M, Murder, Post-Break Up, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 00:16:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19262089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullSunHyuckie/pseuds/FullSunHyuckie
Summary: Qian Kun. He's dangerous, deadly. He's powerful. He's cunning and talented, as well as the leader of a well known and feared guild called the Black Spades.Xiao Dejun is the detective trying to lock him up. Dejun is always so close, the handcuffs nearly around Qian's wrists. But Qian Kun always has something up his sleeve. He always seems to be just one step ahead.





	One Step Ahead

Everyone knows Qian Kun. The police are the only ones who dare to merely say his full name. People are afraid of him, rightfully so. Qian is dangerous, to say the least. And smart. He is cunning. He is the leader of a powerful and feared assassin’s guild called the Black Spades. Each member is hand picked by Qian and the guild is made of only the best of the best killers. Some members were good with guns. Others were the best getaway drivers on the planet. But Qian? There isn’t anything he can’t do. Guns, cars, knives, hand to hand combat, strategy - they’re all his specialty. And he hears everything. Anything remotely related to the Black Spades finds its way to Qian through the grapevine, one way or another.

 

Nobody knows Xiao Dejun but he’s the man who works day in and day out to put Qian Kun behind bars. It never works, though. Sometimes a chase ends with Qian speeding away on a sleek motorcycle that seemed to appear out of thin air. Other times it ends with Qian sliding into the passenger seat of a car and his driver, YangYang screeching down the road. Even when Dejun devises the perfect plan, Qian always slips through his fingers. Qian always has one more idea, one more move that leaves Dejun scratching his head in shock.

 

This time, Dejun watches Qian duck away on the rooftop… gone within a second, leaving Dejun standing in the rain, pondering all the things that went wrong this time.

 

“Fuck!” he spits in frustration, nearly screaming in anger. He had been close. So fucking close. “I had him on the ground! On the fucking ground, underneath me!” Yet somehow, Qian managed to wrangle an arm out of Dejun’s grip as Dejun struggled with his handcuffs. And that was it. Qian smacked Dejun in the temple with the flat of his palm, leaving Dejun to stumble as he grasped the side of his head. Qian sprung up from the ground, his button-down shirt soaked and clinging to his torso. Dejun managed to regain his bearings the moment before Qian roundhouse kicked him in the chest, sending him tripping backward and slamming into the pavement when he fell. In a split second, Qian managed to get on the roof of the nearest building and Dejun knew it was all over. He wouldn’t be catching him tonight.

 

Dejun is about to get in his car and drive away from this miserable street when he hears fast footsteps. He whips around in just enough time to spot a figure scurry behind a nearby trash bin. Dejun whips out his gun. “Come out with your hands where I can see them or I will forcefully detain you!” Dejun shouts, squinting as the wind whips his hair and rain pelts his face.

 

Slowly, a boy makes his way out from behind the bin. He glances at Dejun then takes off sprinting down the street. Dejun doesn’t give him the chance to get far before he has him face down on the ground, with his hands pressed against his lower back. Dejun is fumbling for his handcuffs and he can feel the boy trembling under his grip.

 

“Please don’t hurt me!” the boy sobs and Dejun feels his heart clench ever so slightly. He genuinely sounds terrified. Once he snaps the handcuffs around his wrists, Dejun sits the boy up.

 

Dejun runs his hands along the boy’s torso, arms, and legs, patting down the fabric. He finds a worn, leather wallet, iPhone and two earpieces in his front pocket. He flips open the wallet and searches for an ID. After a moment, Dejun finds his ID tucked away in a pocket. “Zhong Chenle. Born in Shanghai,” Dejun states as he scans over the ID, “Age: 17. You’re only 17?”

 

The boy nods.

 

“Shit…” Dejun mutters under his breath. Out of all of the people working under Qian, Dejun has never even heard of someone as young as this. The youngest he knows of is a 19-year-old boy named Huang Renjun. Dejun finds it horrifying that someone as young as this boy would be put in such a position, but he can’t say he finds it surprising. The Black Spades are brutal. With a groan, Dejun pushes himself up off the ground. He loops his hands under Zhong’s and pulls him to his feet. “C’ mon, I need to take you back to the station,” Dejun says as he escorts him to the car.

 

The boy, Zhong, chokes out a small sob and drops his head. “Please, sir. Let me go. I-I haven’t done anything wrong!”

 

“If you didn’t do anything wrong, you shouldn’t have hidden and you definitely shouldn’t have tried to run. You aren’t under arrest but I need to bring you in for questioning,” Dejun explains to him as he opens the back door of his black 2010 Dodge Challenger.

 

Zhong willingly slides into the back seat of the car but Dejun can still hear him sniffling. Dejun can’t help but feel bad. There is the possibility that he was, in fact, in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the chances were slim in Dejun’s eyes. And he couldn’t let someone who might work for Kun slip away. And even if he doesn’t work for Kun, he’s still a witness.

 

Dejun heads around to the other side of the car and gets into the driver’s seat. The drive back to the station isn’t long and is for the most part peaceful and quiet, other than the boy in the back seat sniffling. When they get to the station, Dejun helps Zhong out of the backseat and directs him into the station. The station is nearly deserted when they get there. Other than a Quanzhe who’s seated at the front desk and the few officers that were loitering around the station to finish a report, there is nobody else.

 

“Xiao-ge!” Quanzhe exclaims with a smile, looking up from his computer. Dejun holds onto Zhong’s handcuffs with one hand and raises his other to wave at the 18-year-old. Dejun ushers Zhong forward, further into the station.

 

He takes Zhong into the back and places him in a cell. Dejun does another pat down to ensure the boy has nothing on them, then leaves the cell. From outside the bars, Dejun calls out and says “Please come over with your back to me and hold your hands out near the bars.” Zhong nods and turns to face away and backs up until he bumps into the metal.

 

Dejun takes out his keys, unlocks the cuffs and hooks them back onto this belt. “It’s late tonight, so you’ll spend the night here and I’ll question you in the morning,” Dejun tells him explains to him. Zhong doesn’t respond - he takes a seat on the mediocre mattress silently. Dejun assumes he understands; it’s been a long and quite frankly disappointing day and Dejun wants nothing more than to go home and collapse in his bed.

 

His apartment isn’t far from the station and considering how painfully late it is, there is practically no one on the road. Dejun gets home in a few short minutes. But something isn’t right. Dejun leaves his living room light on when he heads to work because coming home to a dark house distracts himself from the fact that the house is empty and he is a regretfully single man. However, when he gets out of the car, Dejun can clearly see the lights are off. After climbing the stairs and shuffling down the hallway, he sees that not only are the lights off, but his front door is ajar.

 

Now, for most people, this would be alarming and they’d immediately call the police but Dejun couldn’t be calmer. He can feel the weight of his pistol against his thigh, but he doesn’t even bother putting a hand on his holster. He steps into the entrance way and kicks the door closed with his foot.

 

Dejun places both his hands on his hips and lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’ve told you to stop doing this. I’ve been telling you for years. I don’t need anyone checking up on me after a measly scuffle, much less you two,” he states. Two shadowy figures emerge from the connected kitchen.

 

“Dejun, we tell you every time that he only sends us because he still cares about you.”

 

“And it’s not like we don’t care about you either. We’ve known you for 23 years.”

 

Dejun leans on the wall, narrowing his eyes at them. “Henry-ge, Zhoumi-ge. I don’t care how much you say that you or he still care, it doesn’t matter. You two and your brother lost all my respect 10 years ago along with whatever feelings of love, familial or other, I had for you,” Dejun says casually, although there are many emotions behind his words. “So please, leave. You know I dislike meeting with you if it’s anywhere other than the police station. ”

 

The tall twin, Zhoumi, places a hand over his heart. “Oh, Junnie, you wound me. But you know we can’t just leave. Kun would be quite disappointed in us if we go back without helping you. Kun being disappointed is the worst.”

 

“Although you wouldn’t know, Kun could never be disappointed in you,” Henry adds while rolling up the sleeves of his baby blue button-down shirt to reveal a tattoo of a black spade on the inside of his left wrist.

 

“I don’t care whether Qian is disappointed in me or not,” Dejun snaps before taking a deep breath and regaining his composure. “Qian has been dead to me for many, many years and what he thinks of me means absolutely nothing.”

 

Zhoumi lets out a long drawn out sigh, folding his arms over his chest. “Well, that’s quite unfortunate. You are still very alive to Kun, in his heart.”

 

Dejun’s heart rate picks up. He ignores it.

 

“We aren’t here to talk about past relations, though. All we are here for is to make sure you are okay. Kun mentioned he roundhoused you in the chest,” Henry explains. As he mentions it, Dejun realizes the center of his chest is vaguely aching and he subconsciously brings his right hand up to rub his sore torso. However, he would never admit it to the older males.

 

“I’m perfectly fine,” Dejun declares stubbornly. He knows that he’s sore from the kick, but he would never openly admit it to Henry and Zhoumi. Never. Henry rolls his eyes and runs his fingers through his hair.

 

“You just massaged your chest.”

 

“I went out with a few friends for lunch earlier and we got ramen. But I lost a bet and had to get the super spicy one. This is just leftover heartburn from the spicy broth,” Dejun explains, turning his nose up at the twins.

 

Zhoumi strides over to Dejun, towering many centimeters over him.”The longer the explanation, the bigger the lie,” he says simply and Dejun scoffs at the cheesy proverb.

 

The officer tries to push past him. It has been a long day and all Dejun wants is to lay in bed and go to sleep. However, Zhoumi catches his wrist and tugs him back. Dejun attempts to yank his hand out of the older male’s grip to no avail; he has a steel grip.

 

“Let go of me this instant, Zhoumi-ge. I don’t need your help. What I need is to take a shower and go to sleep. You seem to forget I have work tomorrow and very important things to attend to early in the morning,” Dejun demands furiously. “You have absolutely no right to do any of this. If I was in my right mind, I would’ve brought back up with me long ago to arrest you!”

 

Zhoumi laughs under his breath. “You may act like a big, strong police officer but you and I both know you wouldn’t arrest us, even if you were in your right mind. But if you insist on us not examining you, I won’t force you,” Zhoumi tells him, releasing his grip on Dejun’s wrist.

 

The police officer gasps and yanks his hand back, clutching his wrist. No matter what Zhoumi says his intentions are, it doesn’t change the fact that Zhoumi is strong and his grip is going to end up leaving a nasty, hand shaped bruise on his wrist. With a side glance to Zhoumi, Dejun shoves past the twins and into the kitchen. He throws the door of the freezer open and pulls out two ice packs. He raises his eyebrows at the two men, “See? I’m taking care of myself or whatever! Happy? So pack up and get the fuck out of my house.”

 

The older of the twins sends the younger a knowing glance. Henry holds his hands up in surrender. “Alright! We get it, you’re still salty with our family after ten years. But if your chest pain gets any worse, be sure to call us,” Henry explains.

 

Dejun steps out of the kitchen, and places his hands on the bottom of both Henry and Zhoumi’s back, directing them to the door. “If my chest pain gets any worse, you are the last person I’d call. Now leave or tonight will be the night I throw both of you into a fucking jail cell,” he growls, giving them each a little shove towards the front door.

 

Without a word or a glance back at him, Zhoumi steps out of the front door with Henry behind him, stumbling over the door frame. As soon as the twins are clear of the door, Dejun swings the door shut with as much force as he could. He feels the walls shake momentarily. As soon as the door is closed, Dejun groans and hunches over.

 

He shuffles his way into the bathroom and flips the light on, squinting as the bright light flickers on. He sets the two ice packs down on the counter and tugs his shirt up over his head. When he looks back into the mirror, Dejun finds a large bruise forming on the center of his chest. His skin is tinted a deep purple and blue and it dawns on him just how hard Qian had kicked him. Sighing, he slides a drawer open and pulls out a roll of bandages. Dejun presses the ice pack to the bruise with a hiss and begins wrapping the bandage are his torso to keep the ice pack in place. When he reaches the end of the bandage, he tucks it under a different strand. From the bathroom, he slinks into his bedroom, chucks his phone on the bed and shimmies out of his pants before collapsing on his bed.

 

After a moment, he reaches for his phone which is laying beside him. He unlocks it and opens his messages.

 

 

 

**Dejun ( 11:51 PM):**

 

Guanheng, I detained a boy after an altercation with Qian

His name is Zhong Chenle and he’s 17

I’m planning to question him first thing in the morning

 

 

**Guanheng ( 11:55 PM ):**

 

17?

That’s really young

 

 

**Dejun ( 11:56 PM ):**

 

I know

Just thought I should mention it before you get to the station tomorrow

 

 

**Guanheng ( 11:58 PM ):**

 

Thanks

See you tomorrow Dejun

Goodnight

 

 

**Dejun ( 12:00 AM ):**

 

Goodnight

 

 

Dejun rolls onto his side and throws his arm off the side of the bed. He blindly fishes around on the floor until he finally comes across his phone charger. Dejun plugs his phone in, sets it down on the nightstand and rolls onto his back. His eyes are glued to the ceiling and no matter how hard he tries not to, Dejun can’t help but let his mind wander back to the incident with Qian. Maybe if his handcuffs didn’t get caught on the fabric of his pants. Maybe if Dejun had just held onto Qian’s wrist tighter. Maybe if he hadn’t taken so long to recover after Qian whacked the side of his head. Maybe if he hadn’t fallen backwards when Qian kicked him. There are so many maybes flying through Dejun’s mind that his head practically spins and he can’t keep track of all the possibilities. That’s how it always is with Qian. Nothing ever goes right and all Dejun can think about is ‘maybe’ and ‘what if’.

 

Angrily, Dejun turns and turns off the lamp on his nightstand before crawling under the covers of his bed. Even though he’s exhausted, Dejun bitterly chews on the inside of his lip and continues deconstructing everything that had happened that night. But somewhere along the lines of going through his memories, Dejun fell fast asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, a good amount of the characters have been aged up!!
> 
>  
> 
> Here is a few of the characters and their ages:
> 
> Kun: 26  
> Xiaojun: 26  
> Zhoumi: 29  
> Henry: 29  
> Renjun: 19  
> Chenle: 17  
> Lucas: 25  
> YangYang: 24  
> Sicheng: 27  
> Ten: 23  
> Guanheng: 26


End file.
